His fingers touched her most sensitive point, pressing down with bad intentions, stroking over it with each withdrawal, and she couldn't resist the urge to cry out, biting her lower lip to the point of pain, and then she tried to raise her hand to hit him, but her hands were clipped back behind her back by him.
'I still like you to be good, little wildcats aren't my idea of fun right now!'
The tight curve of his jaw foreshadowed his anger, not knowing if it was at her or himself. In the past, how she fought back, how she hit him, it landed on his body like a scratch, he wouldn't have cared at all, but now his body was traumatised, and as she whacked him down one at a time, those hidden injuries bubbled back up, and a patch of golden-white light whisked in front of his eyes, and he knew that he didn't look well, with his sickly pallor, and he didn't want to let her see him like that, as if it was becoming a strain to even ask for her.